


A Contest of Wills

by JanecShannon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanecShannon/pseuds/JanecShannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Turner's married ones decided to renew thier vows. The problem? John shares a wall with their bedroom and they are being very... enthusiastic... about the reawakening of thier passion.</p><p>Sherlock decides to give them a taste of thier own medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock Kink Meme Prompt: [Here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114512023#t114512023)

John was usually a very polite man. Before the war, when the kids next door got a little too rambunctious, he'd save everyone from embarrassment and just let them have their fun while he buried his head under a pillow. After the war, he was the one who got a little loud (with nightmares though, not enthusiastic sex) and he always appreciated his neighbors kindness at not mentioning it. After moving into 221B Baker Street, John shared a wall with Mrs. Turner's married ones.

This was not a problem until they decided to renew their wedding vows and have a second honeymoon… In the room John shared a wall with.

If he hadn’t been so annoyed (sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid) he probably would have been impressed with their... _enthusiasm._

But, as it was, he was annoyed, sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid. And amazingly (at that point at least), Sherlock wasn’t the biggest one to blame for once. 

Four days after the married-ones-next-door’s honeymoon started, however, it would be a close contest.

x-x-x-x-x

**"Yes! Yes! Yes!"**

John would have almost though Sherlock was in his (John's) bedroom having sex (or a really fantastic wank) if this wasn't... you know, _Sherlock._

But there was the familiar squeaking of the spring in his own mattress, the one he heard every time he tossed and turned in the night. Unable to stand the curiosity, he quietly climbed the second flight of stairs to hid bedroom (carefully avoiding the squeaky third, seventh, and twelfth steps) to find that Sherlock was in fact in his bedroom.

Moaning in a half-bored, half-pained sounding way while he read a book. And bounced his bottom up and down on John's mattress.

Well, that explained the rather awkward looks and advice he'd been getting lately.

**"Hnnguh! Yes. Right there."**

If anything Sherlock was just starting to sound more bored. "Sherlock?"

**"Yes! John!"**

If John hadn't seen the slow way Sherlock dragged his eyes from the book, he almost would have thought he'd actually managed to startle the detective. At least his voice sounded a bit more pleased.

"What are you doing?" John asked, not really liking the sudden pleased expression that covered the detectives face.

"Experiment," Sherlock answered smoothly, quietly, then added in a louder voice, **"Right th- Oh!"**

"And what experiment would that be?" John wondered. "See how much you can annoy the neighbors?"

Sherlock frowned, John recognised the signs of an oncoming sulk. "They've been 'annoying' you for four days now. You've gotten approximately forty-two percent less sleep and have been particularly snippish because of it. I have received twenty percent fewer cups of tea but your tea and coffee intake has increased by thirty-one percent. **You are a god!** "

"They're not making any noise right now, Sherlock."

"They finished intercourse approximately ten minutes ago. On average they take about fifteen to fall asleep after basking in 'post-coital bliss'. **Hnng!** " The venomous tone of _post coital bliss_ followed by the poor imitation of a pleasures moan made John's head spin.

"Sherlock, stop."

"Why? I have made sure to be nothing but complimentary to your skills. **Harder! Oh god, harder!** " This was followed by Sherlock bouncing on John's mattress just a bit harder as his eyes returned to his book. "I am improving your reputation."

"At best you sound like you're getting a rather uncomfortable prostate exam by a strange and inexperienced doctor. If you're doing anything to my reputation, it's ruining it."

"Then you moan for me."

John crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjam, "I'm not going to moan while pretending to have sex just so you can irritate the neighbors."

_"Oh, Jerry..."_

John sighed. That had come from the other side of the wall. Since they couldn't sleep, apparently they'd decided to use the bed for other activities. Just great. 

John couldn't stop the groan that erupted from his throat bit because he had his hand over his eyes, he didn't notice the way Sherlock perked up at the sound.

"Ah, I see. It's further back in the throat," he observed. " **Oh, John...** "

God help him, but that sound sent a rush of blood through John's body. The good doctor swallowed thickly. 

"Come, John," John had to close his eyes at those words because it hadn't been said in Sherlock's breathy-moan which meant Sherlock probably didn't understand the implication of what he was saying in this context. "Join me."

And that was all the encouragement John needed (because this was Sherlock and John usually did whatever the mad detective asked of him).

The good doctor sat on the bed and, timing his bounces with Sherlock's in order to duplicate the best approximation of sex he could manage, let off a breathy moan that dripped with want.

Over the next two days, when he wasn't kept awake by listening to the neighbors sex or by having fake sex with Sherlock, it was the echo of that deep baritone that kept him from the land of dreams. 

At least he got a couple of good wanks in.

And if he happened to moan Sherlock's name, well that's just because he was playing along.

x-x-x-x-x

John's bed was small so the two men were squished up against each other. John couldn't help bit feel pleasantly drained, not quite _I just had sex_ drained bit more of an _I just spend the last half hour vigorously pretending to have sex with my definitely not interested flatmate_ drained.

Sherlock had John's laptop to occupy him this time instead of a book, but John was on the side of the bed that was against the wall. He had to turn on his side to make room for Sherlock to have the computer in his lap and the small size of the bed had them tangled together in such a way that (had this been anyone else) John would have labeled it cuddling. 

It was... nice.

John himself wasn't usually much of a cuddler but here he was: his head on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's arm reaching around him so he could reach the computer (which was propped up on his knees). The only issue John had was where to put his arm. 

He didn't want to just put it across Sherlock because then this really _would_ be cuddling and turning it into cuddling without asking first seemed rude somehow. On the other hand, his shoulder was beginning to ache from keeping it aligned with his body so he couldn't leave it where it was.

Sherlock saved him from coming up with a solution, however, but reaching out and placing the aching arm across his own stomach. John raised his head slightly to look questioningly at the detective.

But Sherlock just arched an eyebrow and replied, "It was the most logical solution." John just lowered his head back to the warm chest and blearily decided not to comment that no, actually, both of them lying in their own beds would be the most logical solution.

But Sherlock was warm and (for all his bony figure) surprisingly comfy and John was asleep within minutes.

In his sleep, John would never know that he shuffled closer, nuzzling his face against Sherlock's chest lightly and tightening his grip on the detective's waist. Nor was he awake to see when Sherlock paused his typing to turn and look at him with a tiny, satisfied smile. Watching the good doctor sleep and allowing just a bit of contentment to flow through him.

x-x-x-x-x

It was a combination of habit and a sleep-addled mind that made John make the first move. They were cuddled (that word associated with Sherlock still made John's brain spin a bit) on the bed and John had fallen asleep after a long day running around London followed by some rather vigorous fake sex. He'd woken up warm and pleased and with his face buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck. 

And in such an overall pleasant mood was he, that he stretched his own neck a bit and placed a soft kiss on the tender flesh.

Sherlock's whole body tensed beside him, but John was too far gone in the sense of half (read mostly) asleep fulfilment that he merely snuggled closer, nuzzling the (oh, so comfy) shoulder and neck beneath his head with a contended smile. 

Gradually, Sherlock relaxed, but John was already asleep again by the time he hesitantly turned his head and applied a soft kiss to the top of the doctor's head.


	2. Chapter 2

John stared at the small drug store bag their landlady-not-housekeeper had just handed him with a mix of shock and horror. 

“I wasn't sure what brand you preferred,” Mrs. Hudson told him thoughtfully. “So I just got the brand Henry and I always liked.”

John’s eyes shot open even further but his body remained completely frozen in shock. Yes, he knew that Mrs. Hudson had once been married and that sex was a natural part of life (one he, himself, quite enjoyed). To each their own, as he’d often heard said, and he had no problem with it. 

But that didn't mean he wanted to know that the woman he and Sherlock had basically come to view as their _mother_ had once enjoyed a good bout of anal sex. Enough to have preference of lube. There are just some pieces of knowledge that John can live the rest of his life quite happily without. 

That little tidbit is one of them. 

“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out, because it was polite to thank someone when they got you a gift (even horrendously embarrassing ones) and John Watson was nothing if not polite. 

“Your welcome, dear,” she answered obliviously, patting his hand. “But just this once mind, I’m not your housekeeper.”

He didn't feel like bringing up that he hadn't actually _asked_ her to pick them up because that would only extend the conversation so he took them to his room, stuffed them in the beside drawer, and decided to pretend this never happened.

x-x-x-x-x

Alarmingly, the first time they really snogged was Mycroft's fault.

“Sherlock-”

“We’re busy,” John interrupted. Mycroft didn't look particularly pleased with the answer but really, he should know better than to bother John after a call from Harry (and the fact that the call ended ten minutes before Mycroft arrived is no excuse... Not for a Holmes). 

“John...” the elder Holmes allowed a bit of pleading to enter his tone. _I know you’re the reasonable one_ and _You don’t have a case on right now_ and _For Queen and country._

“We’re busy,” John just repeats. And, really, it isn’t a lie so it’s not like any of the tells he know he has are going to reveal him. Right at that moment Sherlock and John are both very busy. John is busy glaring at his computer screen and Sherlock is busy ignoring his brother. They’re schedules are completely full.

Mycroft should have know... _he should have known_... better than to push right then but he pushed anyway. He pushed and he picked and he just had to bring up all the fake sex and John really wasn’t willing to admit that he wished was real... 

He told himself he wasn’t think about it when he stormed over to where Sherlock was laying in his ever-familiar thinking pose. His eyes are closed but his _John’s about to do something to annoy Mycroft_ smirk is on his face so John doesn’t even hesitate before he slips a hand beneath his flatmate's neck and mashes their lips together. 

Sherlock had to have know it was coming, he _had_ to, because his reaction isn’t to startle at the contact but instead to bring his hands up and pull John _closer_. And it was only meant to prove a point, to make Mycroft leave them alone, but suddenly (with Sherlock’s lips pliant under his own) it’s so much more than that and the rest of the world can really just go take a hike because _Sherlock’s lips are pliant under his own_.

At some point, John drops to his knees next to the sofa because bending over like that is just doing nothing for his back and Sherlock turns so he’s laying on his side instead because that’s just more pleasant for this particular activity. Some one's mouth opens and the other’s follows and then their tongues are battling for dominance. 

Somehow they migrate from the couch to Sherlock straddling John on the floor (Sherlock’s shoulder was beginning to fall asleep and John’s knees were beginning to hurt). And, really, they’re too old to be macking out on the floor like teenagers but that doesn’t even occur to either of them until Sherlock’s phone chimes a text message and they break apart to stare at it (Well, John stares at it... Sherlock’s is more of a glare). 

“That was Lestrade’s sound,” John points out when Sherlock doesn’t rush to check the text.

“Yes, John.”

“Aren’t you going to check it?” John wonders. “It could be a case.”

For the first time, Sherlock looks torn as his eyes glide to the phone. “I’ve read it’s bad form to check your phone while being intimate with someone. Have I been misinformed?” Only John would have picked up the slight hesitance to that question but anyone could see, clear as day, that Sherlock wanted to check his phone. 

“It’s also considered bad form to expect your boyfriend to change too much simply because he’s dating you,” John told him but the words made Sherlock sit back on his heels and study the doctor beneath him. 

“Is that what we are now? Boyfriends?” he said the word slowly, seemingly rolling it about on his tongue as though this were the first time he’d ever said it. 

“A bit juvenile for my tastes but its the best my brain is capable of coming up with at the mo,” John answered tiredly, closing his eyes. There was a quite _thud_ as his head fell against the floor as though his neck was suddenly incapable of supporting it. 

“Perhaps ‘partner’ instead?” Sherlock offered. 

John giggled, not quite able to believe he was actually having this conversation. “Partners it is. Now check your phone, you git. I know you want to.”


	3. Epilogue

It is a case, as it turns out, one that sends the detective and his doctor running about London like men even half their age can’t manage. It’s a serial killer case, one that’s been happening for decades but no one actually made the connection between the murders before now and suddenly it’s Christmas and Birthdays and several holiday’s all rolled into one because on top of all that it’s an _interesting_ one too. There’s a chase (of course there’s a chase) and John ends up with some bruises in rather creative places and Sherlock has a nice new concussion (mild, barely there, concussion Sherlock is quick to point out later) but they’ll both live. 

All in all, the case only takes three days but it puts them firmly past the two weeks the Married Ones had taken off work for their honeymoon. But two weeks straight of pure sex seems to have done nothing to discourage their libidos and they are more than happy to continue in their spare time. 

It’s been nearly two weeks since John’s had a proper sleep but he brooks no argument when Sherlock pins him to the wall in the entryway and seems determined to map every centimeter of John’s mouth that he can reach with his tongue. 

Technically Sherlock’s room is closer and his bed is the bigger of the two but (after they finally pull themselves away from each other long enough to make it up to the second floor) John is surprised when Sherlock forcibly drags him up one more flight of stairs to John’s own room. 

It’s not until Sherlock’s straddling his hips on the bed and he hears Jerry’s moan next door that he understands.

If there was a single person on the face of the earth that was the epitome of the phrase _Anything you can do, I can do better,_ it’s Sherlock. 

He chuckles and Sherlock pulls back slightly. His eyes are heated as he examines the doctor laying beneath him, but scoffs at whatever he sees and claims John’s lips in another searing kiss. 

Of course, now that John’s aware of Sherlock’s plan, he tries to take control of the kiss. John grew up in homes with thin walls, then went off to uni where he shared a dorm with thin walls, then was in the army where he shared a room full of bunks with other men. Loud and Sex just don’t really factor into any equations when it comes to John. That’s not to say that the good doctor isn’t skilled at pulling those noises out of _other people_ (he’s quite skilled at that, just ask any number of people on three separate continents), but John himself is usually fairly quiet and that is not what Sherlock is looking for at the moment.

And it isn’t exactly like it would be any sort of hardship on him to attempt to pull those noises out of Sherlock. That is something John is _quite_ looking forward to. 

But there’s hidden strength in that lanky form and Sherlock is surprisingly skilled at finding those places that make John’s brain stutter and stop just long enough for his train of thought to be completely derailed. 

Despite the way he’d basically dragged John up the stairs only moments ago, Sherlock slows once he gets John’s shirt off. The tiny, blond hairs (so thin, so fine, Sherlock notes, that they are barely visible even up close as he is now) on John’s chest stand on end as his fingers ghost of the newly revealed flesh beneath him. And he is _delighted_ that John is shivering (no, not shivering... practically _vibrating_ ) beneath his fingers. 

_E-E-Eli-Oh God- Elliot!_ drifts from the other side of the wall but Sherlock ignores it (for now). John is not a man to be rushed and, judging by the surprised look on his face at the low moan the not-quite-touching pads of Sherlock’s fingers draw from him, the good doctor is not accustomed to making noise at all. 

It is a point of pride for Sherlock that he is the first of John’s partners to do so. 

.oO*Oo.

Jerry stepped away from the wall and covered his mouth to hold back an excited giggle.

"That was real, that time," Elliot muttered. His usually grim-set mouth quirked up at the corners.

"We actually did it!" Jerry shrieked quietly before grabbing his husband's hand. "Oh, we have to tell Mrs. Turner. I can’t believe this actually worked.”

“It took long enough,” Elliot answered, “You know I love you, but this much sex.... Well, it was starting to chafe a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this got held up because I can't write smut. But I went to work on it and read over what I had and what was missing and really.... it didn't need what was missing. 
> 
> So I mushed them together, fiddled with them a bit, and bam! Final chapter for you. 
> 
> Hopefully it was worth the wait 
> 
>  
> 
> Goes and hides in the corner
> 
> Oh, um, also, I'm on tumblr [here](http://janecshannon.tumblr.com). I'm starting to publish bits and pieces of my own work there rather than just lurking and reblogging other peoples stuff so I'd appreciate it if you'd check it out :)


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